Giving Ground
by prouvaires
Summary: -he's the one crying, but she's the one giving ground; just like always.- ArthurMorgana


**Disclaimer: **I don't own Merlin. Obviously.

**Rating: **T (for language)

**Words: **1,271

**A/N:** Set some point in the future when Arthur's king. I'll leave exactly when up to your imagination.

**Song: **Happy – Leona Lewis

--

The lies glide off her tongue like honey-sweet snakes, hissing as the confusion in his eyes spreads to the rest of his face, and she can see the agony as his heart breaks somewhere inside his chest. But he's the kind of guy that will never admit to pain, and she wants (needs) him to scream and shout and cry so she can run to him and make him better and promise to never leave him again.

(I'm so _sorry_.)

Her tongue moves to form the words her mind will never let her speak as his eyes suddenly clear of all bewilderment and steel with the resourceful determination she hateloves so much. His sword rasps sibilantly against its sheath as it slides into his hand and he takes a measured pace towards her. He's not having any issues with words (he never has).

"Why?" he whispers, and that one word is louder than the thunder that rages all around them. She blinks back the tears she swore she'd never cry (why did she make such an impossible promise?) and her hand extends towards him, her jaw set as her heart slams against her ribcage.

(I can't do this. I _won't _do this. Don't make me do this.)

"Run, Arthur," she says (and yes, she knows it sounds like she's pleading) and lightening flashes above them as they face each other on the castle battlements.

"Don't you remember?" he murmurs as he paces closer, his walk as smooth and sinuous as a wildcat. "Don't you remember the nights when it was stormy and you used to run to my bed so I could keep you safe?"

"I don't need any man to keep me safe."

It's an automatic reaction, and it's half-true. She doesn't need _any _man. She needs him. He's the only one that can keep her safe from herself.

"Please, Morgana." (he's begging now). She takes several steps backwards, giving ground (just like always).

"Please what?" she taunts, her mind flashing from goodnessandlight to darknessanddespair as the magic courses through her, but she's so undecided she can't release it (not yet).

"Please stop. I never did anything to hurt you. I always _loved _you."

(Oh, _God, _so did I.)

"Loved?" the past tense jumps out at her, and his expression hardens again as another booted foot takes one careful step forward.

"You killed my father. You're trying to destroy everything that is most precious to me. How can I love you now?"

She wants to scream that it's not her, none of it is – it's all Morgause and her lies and her insidious infection that drew Morgana under and drowned her until all she could do was follow blindly.

"And don't feed me any crap about it being Morgause's fault," he snaps (he always could read her so well) as his sword trembles in his hand. "You've been walking that line between right and wrong for so long, you didn't need a push. You fucking _jumped_. I thought you were better than that."

(But I _am_ better – please, just open your eyes and see it.)

Suddenly the tears overspill and the magic explodes from her body, the air igniting as Arthur is blasted backwards, and she's sorry the second she realises what she's done. She runs towards him where he lies motionless on the ground, her hands flying to his face, brushing his hair out of his eyes and wiping the smudges off his cheek as she falls to her knees beside his prone form.

"Please," she whispers against his chest as she collapses over him. "This is too hard. I need you. I need you to need me. Please." The plea becomes a mantra that she murmurs over and over again as his chest rises and falls steadily under her head.

"I _do _need you," he declares, startling her as she leaps to her feet and her green eyes flash to meet his blue ones, wide awake and staring at her with surprising clarity. "Why d'you think I didn't marry Gwen?"

She has to bite back a snort, and it's all so (painfully) familiar she thinks maybe she'll start crying again. "I thought you didn't marry her because you finally realised she was in love with Lancelot?"

"Maybe that helped," he admits, and now she's really crying because the old Arthur would never have let her win an argument just like that. He would have battled on, stumbling over words and getting red and angry in that irritating (adorable) way he has. His sword clatters to the ground at his feet as he drops his head into his hands as he heaves himself up into a crouch, and his shoulders shudder once as he tries to get himself under control again.

"Stop it," he mutters, and she tilts her head in confusion. (This time she didn't do anything. For once.)

"Stop what?"

"This. Making me … _feel _… about you. Feel like love. I need to be able to fight you, I need to be able to protect Camelot." He rises to his feet, picking up his sword as he battles for control of his emotions.

She wipes her cheeks inelegantly with her sleeve as she regards him where he stands.

"You can't fight me if I don't fight you," she points out, and his expression breaks her heart (again) as he raises his eyes from the ground to gaze at her.

"Morgana, my people want revenge for the hundreds of innocent lives you've taken. I _have _to fight you. I'm the king, they expect it of me."

This time she doesn't bother wiping away the tears (there's too many of them).

"You haven't changed that much." (humour in the face of the end of the world and all that.) "It's all still about honour and responsibility."

Thunder booms above them again, roaring its splendour to the whole sky.

"I'm king, Morgana. Maybe if you'd made the right choice you'd be queen and you'd understand."

His voice is low, bleak. (Hopeless.) She feels herself growing numb and cold, and the awful emptiness inside her only slightly surprises her.

"I love you, Arthur Pendragon. And because I love you I swear to you: I'll never come back. I'll never divide your loyalties again. I'll let you govern a peaceful Albion, marry someone whose heart is all yours, and have lots of children in safety and security."

He's on his feet instantly, and he looks like he's going to snatch her to him (and _God _she wants him to do that more than anything) but she takes several quick steps backwards.

"The hardest part of loving someone is letting go," she tells him (when did she become the more mature one?) and she centres herself, feeling the magic rise at her command. "Tell Merlin he's forgiven, and that I'm sorry."

"Morgana, no!" he cries, leaping for her, but she's already dissipating into shadows.

"I love you," a voice whispers on the wind, and when she's gone and he's standing alone on the ramparts of Camelot (thinking that maybe throwing himself from the battlements would hurt less than this) he notices the red rose she's left in her place.

"You think a fucking _flower _can mend my heart?!" he screams at the storm. The thunder rumbles back uncaringly, and he bends to pluck the flower from the ground anyway, pressing it against his breast as the tears start falling. (How the people would laugh if they saw their mighty king reduced to this.) "Please," he murmurs, but the wind doesn't care.

(He doesn't have a choice. They were always meant to be a tragedy.)

--


End file.
